Running

Exhale.

Air. Life. Water. Everything around me. Dashing across the Queens University campus at two minutes until curfew, I drank in my surroundings as they passed me by. The darkness and the pouring rain seemed to fit over me like an old blanket, comforting. I easily dodged several of the deeper puddles as they reflected the light of nearby streetlamps. In the briefest seconds it took me to do so, I savored the tang of the night air. Grass, benches, buildings all seem to be nearly iridescent with light reflected off of them. All was silent except for the sound of the rain and the quiet thump of my thin-soled basketball shoes hitting the ground. I could not ask for more.

Inhale.

I could keep going…keep going like this forever. Despite the fact that both my baggy jeans and heavy, long sleeved cotton shirt are soaked, I feel as light as air. I feel alive, for once. More alive than I’ve felt in a long time. I’m not tired in the least, nor am I cold. It's marvelous, the little details you miss when you try to fight everything. Reflections. The night sky. The damp of the air, the sound of the wind.

Exhale.

Look at the others, shying away from what’s around them. They trudge in those sordid columns, vainly trying to protect themselves from the elements. But why? I put no barriers between myself and where I am. I absorb it, let it become a part of me. The rain, the wind, the grass and stone beneath my feet. It all has a place. I have left the others behind because they do not. Why should I suffer for their rigidity? I needed the exercise, anyways.

Inhale.

Other fellow runners begin to come or pass alone or in pairs. We run for the joy of it, not because we fear the rain or cold. We run to help us remember that we live, are alive. It helps us forget the world where we are but numbers drowning in a sea of paper. We nod politely and smile, brothers and sisters in arms. “Nice night for it, eh?”, one calls out to me. I grin. It is indeed.

Exhale.

I bound up the stairs to my dorm, missing the slickest spots on the wet stone. I can hear the murmur of those inside, feel the heat emanating from there. Three or four steps at a time, I have realized that I am free until I reach those doors, but I do not slow down. All good things, right?

Inhale.